


our paths will cross again

by blamethenargless



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Precious Peter Parker, Technology, in a sense?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamethenargless/pseuds/blamethenargless
Summary: MJ signs up for a tech internship program at Stark Towers. She goes to learn, create, and make a good impression on Tony Stark, but everything changes when she befriends a cute girl who seems to be a genius and who somehow knows Peter Parker.She's honestly surprised he has friends other than her, but hey. She's certainly not protesting to this one.





	our paths will cross again

**Author's Note:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> Wow. This is the first 100% fluff I've written in a WHILE. And the first fic I'm posting on my new and improved blamethenargles ao3 page! Also, a million dollars to anyone who can name (off the top of their head) who all the background tech kids are/what they're from!

“Parker,” comes a voice from over Peter’s left shoulder. He turns to see MJ, waving her phone at him frantically in a way that does not match her calm voice. “Look at this.”

He reaches for her phone, but she pulls it out of his grasp, instead displaying the screen a few inches from his face. He reads quickly, eyes narrowing in thought, then widening in excitement. “That’s awesome! In two weeks? I didn’t even know you were applying for that.”

“You know nothing about me, Parker,” she says cryptically, tucking the phone into her back pocket.

“Yeah.” He nods, because it’s true. “But that sounds amazing. My summer plans are… a lot more chill. Relaxing. Sleeping in.”

“Sounds lame.”

“It does.” He looks a little forlorn, but perks up again after a second. “But hey! At least Ned’s gonna be here with me. You’re going to have to make  _ new _ friends.” He smiles at the insinuation that the two of them are friends.

She scoffs. “Somehow, I highly doubt that’ll happen. I’m good with the four I have here. You know what they say. Five’s a crowd.”

He cocks his head. “Me, and Ned… and who else? Also, I don’t think they say that.”  
“I’m the third. Fourth’s a secret. And they do, Parker. I’m positive they do. Anyway, I’m hype. A summer full of travel and technology. Should be really fun. But I came to talk to you ‘cause it’s an offshoot of Stark Industries’ internship program, and I know you know Tony Stark, albeit only a little. I was just wondering if you had an idea of… of how to give a good impression.”

Peter laughs, though not unkindly. “Oh, my God, are you scared? You’re scared.”

She glares at him from under the strands of curly hair falling into her eyes, glares hard. He gulps and straightens.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” She’s almost laughing.

Peter shakes his head, fast. “Nope. I said ‘man’. Like, sorry, dude!”

This time, she really does laugh, concealing it with a fake cough. “I’m not scared, though,” she says, but her fingers are twitching. “Just want to have a better reception than everyone else.”

“I’m sure you’re the smartest out of all of them.” MJ kind of hates how much sincerity there is in his voice.

“I know I am. But… just text me any insider information that could be useful.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think I have your number.”

“Yeah, but I have yours.” As she walks away, pulling her book from her backpack, she hears his bewildered  _ How?  _ from behind her.

(It’s because there was a decathlon group chat. He just never saved her as a contact.)

 

_ it’s me _

**ok so i think that gray blazer you have, you wore it once during the trip, that’s very sharp. he would like that!**

_ dope _

**do you know anyone else on the trip?**

_ uh _

_ no why _

**there’s a girl i’ve heard of who i think might be a part of it! seems very her thing!**

_ didn’t know you even knew people other than me+ned+the love of your life who moved far far away _

**that was mean :(**

_ so sorry :( _

_ group of only ten ppl: me lila b henry c inej g rosa d shuri (no last initial) daniel “oz” o george c leo v abraham g _

**OH MY GOD. SHOOK.**

_ peter that word isnt cool anymore _

_ why are you shook _

**I KNOW HER! SHURI! or i dont but i’ve heard of her**

_ i personally believe, and believe strongly, that people should be limited to three exclamation points a day including speech and writing and you are well over the limit _

**oof**

**anyway**

**shuri. i know her. i know of her, she’s apparently rlyrlyrly smart.**

**dude, she’s a princess! of a country!**

_ a country _

**oh damn forget that**

_ yeah i’ll just erase the fact that a girl i’ll be spending a summer with is the princess… of a country _

**anyways! she’s really smart, did i say that already. and apparently super cool. wait i’ll try and find a picture for you**

_ googling shows no info on princess shuri _

_ digging deeper _

**stark says i can’t send you a picture :( but she’s also very pretty!**

_ ok one-track mind we cant all be straight teenage boys _

**? im**

_ nothing _

_ deeper googling shows she’s the princess of wakanda but that’s a third-world country with like four articles on it you must be thinking of the wrong girl _

**oh**

**oh yeah**

**i probably am!**

_ parker that’s almost ten exclamation points in this conversation alone _

**i’m just happy for you**

_ awww. sweet. _

_ now let me read in peace _

 

The end of the year comes quickly. MJ’s goodbyes are quick and to the point, and she manages to wrestle out of Peter’s hug after only four seconds. Which she counts as a victory.

He hasn’t brought up the Stark Industries summer project or that Shuri girl, which she also counts as a victory. Though she’d never admit it, she does love Peter. But she can’t stand when he raves on and on about Tony Stark. That she does admit, loudly and frequently.

She hasn’t brought it up, either. She doesn’t like admitting she’s scared, even scared about making a good impression to a multibillionaire, and so she’s kept quiet to avoid the conversation altogether. Now, though, she’s starting to regret it. She really  _ does  _ want to get Stark to like her, and mostly she wants to be better-liked than the rest of the group. And she would love to take advantage of her upper hand.

Too late. It’s the first day of the program, and she’s stretched out across the backseat of the taxi, anxiously rolling a curl of hair between her fingers, wearing her sharp gray blazer like Peter said she should. She tries to focus on the book in her lap, but her mind won’t settle down for long enough to read more than a paragraph. A few blocks out, she can see the tall building rising amongst the suffocating mass of apartments crowding midtown. Her stomach tightens.

She pays the driver, gets out of the cab. Instantly, she’s met with a cheerful boy about an inch shorter than her with spiked hair and an extraordinary gaudy watch. Who’s just gotten out of an impeccably white car. And is now telling her how all his friends have matching ones. And she really doesn’t care, so she tunes him out.

They ride the elevator up together; in the back of her mind, she absorbs that he’s made some electronic insect, and that’s how he got into the program.

As they step out, they’re met by the other eight students. Looking around, MJ finds a wide range of people, from a short and sullen-looking hooded girl to a short and sullen-looking boy with wild red hair and a crossed-out name tag. There’s a lot of short and sullen-looking people. Very much her type, she acknowledges, but not entirely compatible for an adequate summer friendship. There’s one other hyper-looking boy, who she immediately disregards, and a kind, softer looking one, who she thinks would be boring. The most promising option seems a tall girl, leather jacket, shoulder-length curly hair with a tiny bisexual pride patch on the cuff of her sleeve. The two lock eyes, share a nod, and that’s that.

Then, MJ finds Shuri.

She looks exactly like the photos online. She’s got flawless skin and hair braided up into two buns, threaded through with off-white fabrics. She has a touch of chapstick on, and is wearing a deep purple athletic tank top with black leggings. MJ suddenly feels very, very overdressed in her blazer and loafers (though she has no reason to; everyone else is decked out similarly to herself). And, oh God, when she smiles, MJ swears she can feel her heart melt.

Introductions and pleasantries are shared around. She barely registers anyone’s name. Just as she’s about to shake hands with Shuri, a panel opens on the side, displaying a large screen. The kids all situate themselves in front of it.

A video plays about Stark Industries and the internship program and the summer offshoot. MJ really doesn’t care. She’s heard this all a million times before. Sooner or later, it’s over, and she jumps up to introduce herself to Shuri.

Foiled again, though, as now, through the panel walks Tony Stark himself. Chatter rises, but he silences them all with a raised hand. “Thanks, kids. Now, you’re all here because you like making stuff. Some of you are rich as hell and can afford to--” he gestures vaguely towards the Asian kid with the gaudy watch and hair product “--and some of you can’t.” He doesn’t gesture this time. “Either way, you’re all on level playing field here, so let’s get to creating. FRIDAY, lesson one, if you will.” And with that, he exits.

Shuri seems to be the only one unaffected by Stark’s celebrity status, MJ is quick to note.

A soothing voice comes on over unseen speakers, drowning out the excited chatter. “Welcome to SUMMER: {bleep}.” The program’s acronym is censored.

“Probably Stark thinking he’s better. Deluded, really.” MJ hears the voice whisper at the back of her neck, and almost, just almost turns around, but at the last minute, she freaks, and doesn’t do it. She knows it’s Shuri. It has to be Shuri.

“Today is an introduction to the facilities here at Stark Industries. Now, if you would all make your way towards the back…” 

MJ stands up and walks, not looking behind her, ignoring the gaze on her shoulder blades. There’s another screen there with the words LAB PARTNERS emblazoned across it. She quickly scans down the list to find:

**MICHELLE J.** and **DANIEL “O** dhjfsfdjshjdksf

She frowns. She doesn’t think that high-tech screens tend to do that. Out of the corner of her eye, she swears she sees a girl crouched by the edge of the screen, something sparking wildly. Then, she looks back at the screen, shakes her head, blinks a few times, because now, clear as day, it reads: 

**MICHELLE J.** and  **SHURI**

Still no last initial.

When she looks back at the edge of the screen, the crouched girl is gone. Instead, standing right in front of her, Shuri is smiling. MJ lifts the corner of her mouth, forcing herself to remain calm, and nods sharply. “‘Sup. I’m Michelle.”

Shuri says nothing. She stands, frozen.

“Um. ‘Sup, I’m Michelle,” she tries again, sticking her hand out. 

The girl seems to snap out of her fervor, grasping MJ’s hand and shaking it, hard. “I am Shuri,” she says, “Princess of Wakanda. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh! Should I like, bow, or something?” MJ’s genuinely concerned. She doesn’t want to offend her already.

Shuri’s face twitches, and she opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it again. And opens it again. And finally speaks, saying, “I have to make a call.”

MJ stands, dumbstruck, as Shuri whips out her phone, types in some numbers, and whisper-screams  _ I understand, you fucking antelope  _ before shutting her phone off and rebooting her dazzling smile. “Let me try again. I am Shuri, Princess of Wakanda, and you do not need to bow, though, of course, I wouldn’t say no.” Her eye twitches. It almost looks like a wink.

MJ drops theatrically to the floor in a deep curtsy, coming up with a hand flourish. “Well, Princess, pleasure’s all mine.” She offers her hand, trying to constrain its tremors. “To wherever FRIDAY tells us to. Shall we?”

Shuri threads their fingers together lightly, and MJ almost collapses with happiness on the inside. On the outside, though, she just smirks, and leads the way.

  
  


After three days, MJ gets Shuri’s number. After six, she tells the other girl to call her MJ, not Michelle. “After all,” she says, “it’s what my friends call me.”

“And I certainly am your friend.” 

MJ’s sure she imagines the hesitation on the word  _ friend _ , imagines the the way the letters are stretched out with trepidation.

After eight days, she thinks she finally understands Shuri.

MJ loves two things: reading books and people. But her partner, at first, proved to be an issue to figure out. She’d talk on and on, a thread of consciousness that spun out into a loom full of ideas. Most of the time it was near-impossible to follow her train of thought, but the animated excitement on her face made up for MJ’s confusion. And then she would stop, suddenly, in the middle of a sentence. She would catch the other girl’s gaze and just freeze, her whole body seizing up, her left eye twitching. MJ noticed she had lots of tics like that. But three seconds later, she would launch back into her soliloquy on theoretical astrophysics, or something, and it was like nothing in the world existed except for the two of them and their shared ideas.

So she’s confused, a little, still, because she  _ does _ understand Shuri. She understands her love and passion for all things technology, and she understands the way her eyes light up and her lips quirk at the corners and her hands circle with grand gestures. She understands that as she works, her fingers fly, trying to keep up with her mind’s rapid-fire pace. She understands a lot about Shuri.

She doesn’t understand Shuri’s freezes. She’ll talk, on and on, and then all of a sudden–nothing. Every muscle seizes up, and maybe she twitches a bit, but she’s near frozen for a second. And then she pushes past it and launches back into her speech like nothing’s happened.

It’s curious. MJ supposes she just needs to observe some more.

They’ve got an assignment for this program: By the end, each pair should have built a robot that could, in some way, be governmentally beneficial. It’s a broad topic, even if it seems narrow. Other groups are building robots that can do things from file papers to send out a microscopic dart to kill a political enemy. MJ had the idea to make something that could rebuild itself into 3D blueprints of rooms on a small scale. Perfect for planning meetings, or scouting exits in case of an assassination. Shuri loved it and immediately launched into work.

(At the next table over, the girl with the pride patch leather jacket looked like she was about to murder the spikey-haired, gaudy-watched kid as he explained his idea with hand gestures that got dangerously close to her face. Oh, well. MJ supposed not all pairs could be so lucky.)

  
  


MJ’s not great at building things. Her hands are shaky, and she lacks the finite precision required for such a miniature. But she’s got creativity for days, and with Shuri’s talent, the two of them are done nearly a week before the final presentations are due.

They’re allowed to leave the tower whenever they feel like it, in order to get snacks or have a break or anything else they might need to do. Most people don’t, because the tower has practically everything anyone could want, but MJ and Shuri are done, and MJ likes to leave a project be for a day before going in and doing edits, so they decide to take the subway down a few stops to walk about lower Manhattan. 

Shuri doesn’t like the train. She complains about how clattery and loud it is, and that  _ someone’s going to die on this deathtrap, MJ, it’s so poorly constructed.  _ MJ likes listening to her rants. They have a nice banter. She replies that the MTA is always useless, and Shuri asks why it’s not fixed, and oh, no. Because now MJ launches into a tirade ripping into city-and-state politics and for the first time in her life, Shuri is completely lost.

“In Wakanda,” she puts in when the taller girl pauses for breath, “things seem to run a lot more smoothly. My brother may be insufferable, but he’s at least smart enough to lead.”

“Yeah, well. We can’t all be that lucky.” She goes right back into her rant.

And then she freezes. Because she can feel the humidity causing her hair to rise, and she thinks that the sunscreen her mom put on her nose that morning isn’t entirely rubbed in, and she realizes she probably looks a little crazy, having risen out of her seat to rant about the corrupt governmental system that causes the fucking  _ trains  _ to not have a  _ solid schedule _ . Her breath catches in her throat because Shuri’s looking at her so quizzically, with her head tilted slightly to the side and a confused-but-happy smile playing at her lips and her shirt’s a light blue that looks so good on her and she’s practically regal sitting in a stuffy car on the Q train on a Thursday afternoon and MJ realizes that  _ holy shit. I’m crushing on a princess. And now  _ I’m  _ the frozen one. _

And Shuri laughs and her expression softens and she says, “I have to speak with my brother again.” She pulls out her phone and mutters something about  _ headlights across all continents _ .

“Don’t bother,” MJ sighs. “There’s no reception here. You’ll have to wait ‘til we get out.”  
Shuri groans and mutters, “So primitive. I want to rebuild this whole city.”

Their stop arrives, and MJ pulls Shuri out of her seat by her hand. When they step out onto the platform, she realizes what she’s done, and drops the hand like it’s scalding water.

“It is not improper to touch me or anything. I’m not the queen of England.” Her voice is light and filled with humor, and she kicks at the ground lightly.

“Just gotta be safe, your Highness.” She makes a sweeping bow and looks up halfway through and smirks. And Shuri’s frozen again. Is it a medical condition, or something? MJ supposes it could be rude to ask. So she does. “Is it a medical condition, or something?”

The other girl raises an eyebrow, and suddenly MJ feels very small. Her cheeks flush, and she rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck. “You, uh, you tend to freeze up a lot?”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “You could say it runs in the family, yes. But it is not a medical condition. I’ll tell you about it later, maybe.”

Lower Manhattan is filled with girls in flannels. Lots of girls, in lots of flannels. It’s not even the right weather for flannels. The sun beats down, obscured partially by clouds, but it’s still a steady seventy-plus degrees, and MJ feels hot in jeans. Shuri, of course, was smart enough to wear a tank top and shorts.

“I like to guess,” MJ says, surprising herself. She cuts off awkwardly.

“Guess what?”  
“Uh, if they’re just trying to be grunge, or if they’re, you know. Gay,” she trails off. Usually she’s confident and unafraid. But she stares at the ground now, toying with the edge of her shirt. 

She hears a snort. “Honestly, MJ, you are smart. Have you not figured this out? I like girls, too.”

“Oh! Great, that’s really great. That’s so cool. Me, too. As well. Hey. Look. That shop over there.” She quickly changes the subject before her face can catch on fire, because Shuri’s raised her eyebrow again, and MJ is feeling very affected. “It sells edible cookie dough. Well, all cookie dough is edible, if you don’t care about salmonella risks. Which I know I don’t. But that’s egg-free. My friend Peter went there once, after school, because he had a lot of time before getting home, he said. And he loved it. But he loves everything,” she says fondly.

“I know of him. A little.”

“Oh, he said you did. So, you want to go? Ladies first,” she smiles, ushering Shuri to the street corner. The light changes, and they cross.

Inside, the shop is cool and air-conditioned, and Shuri shivers a little. MJ unwraps the leather jacket around her waist. “Brought it just in case. You want?” She holds it out, her expression unaffected, but her heart beating like a twelve-year-old boy who just asked his crush to a school dance.  _ Stupid, stupid _ , she chides herself.  _ Just because Shuri likes girls doesn’t mean she likes me _ .

The princess takes it with a smile, draping it around her shoulders but not putting her arms through. She orders plain chocolate chip cookie dough at the register, and MJ gets snickerdoodle, and when it arrives, they’re both underwhelmed.

“This… it tastes like cookie dough,” MJ deadpans. 

“It does. How sad, that it’s not as earth-shatteringly amazing as promised,” Shuri adds somberly.

“Should have known better than to trust Parker. He couldn’t say a bad word about anything, even entirely mediocre cookie dough. Especially that. Because it’s a sweet. And now we’ve gone and fed the exploitative corporate machine that leeches from social media and feeds into the giant capitalist monster.” Her face is blank and her voice monotone as she spoons another bite into her mouth.

Shuri chokes on her cookie dough. “You’re funny, MJ. And you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

 

It’s the last day of the program, and MJ’d be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed. Over the past week, she had nearly asked Shuri out twice, and then panicked and not done it because  _ she’s a princess, dumbass, and she doesn’t even live in this continent. And she probably doesn’t even like you.  _ And now she had no more chances.

Their presentation had gone amazingly. Stark himself was there, and gave it a vague compliment. Afterwards, Shuri laughed and said he was probably jealous that his technology wasn’t as evolved as hers. MJ nodded mutely in response.

Now, the final group is presenting, and MJ isn’t paying attention in the slightest. She is focused on how Shuri’s knee is touching her own and that their hands are mere inches away and how much of a goddamn disaster she is, going into pieces over the fact that they’re  _ just sitting together. _ But she steels herself and takes Shuri’s hand in her own, lacing their fingers together. The girl’s hand twitches in her own, but then relaxes, and she squeezes MJ’s palm, still looking straight ahead.

The presentation seems to last a decade, and at the same time, a second. When it’s over, Shuri extracts her hand and stands up to clap, like she’s done for all of them. After the clapping, she whispers into MJ’s ear, “I only do this to make them feel better about themselves. Ours is by far the best.”

MJ tightens her hands into fists and feels her cheeks blossom with color. She thanks any higher power that Shuri can’t see her face as she turns away.

A short commencement speech by FRIDAY later (because Stark got pulled away right at the end of the final presentation), and the program’s over. Shuri and MJ walk to the door together. At the exit, Shuri stops, and grabs MJ’s hands in her own. “Promise me you will keep in touch?” Her smile is earnest, and her nose is slightly wrinkled in anticipation.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” MJ says with a nonchalant air, desperately trying to cover up the maelstrom of emotions whirling in her stomach. “I’ll text you. But, uh, and don’t be offended–” She stops speaking and gulps loudly at Shuri’s scathing look.

“If this is about Wakanda, I can assure you I have adequate cell service there. There’s much you do not know, Michelle, and I can’t give out information to those who haven’t the proper clearance.”

_ Michelle _ . “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I–”

“And finally!” Shuri continues, “If you were planning on asking how I am so smart or so talented while living in such a poor country. I am a princess, dammit, and there is nothing I cannot do. Also, you are rather blind to what’s in front of you, to what you can understand easily if you just  _ tried  _ a little harder. In terms of this, and in terms of other things, too. Maybe soon you will find out.” She drops MJ’s hands and saunters out the door.

And it would be a fairytale ending or something except a minute later she creeps back in to grab the flannel she left in her seat. MJ smiles, and Shuri catches her eye, tiptoeing back towards the exit. She practically gleams with happiness.

“I am so, so screwed,” MJ whispers to herself.

 

Two days later, and Shuri hasn’t yet left for Wakanda, so Peter decides that the three of them should hang out. Shuri wants to go to classic tourist place while she’s still in the city (“It’s my first time in New York City!” she had practically squealed), and it’s Saturday, and they’re in Brooklyn, so they decide to go to Smorgasburg. Shuri finds the whole situation fascinating (“What on earth is a ramen burger? Why do Americans feel the need to ruin two good foods by making them into one bad one? I need one, now.”); Peter is smiling at the sun and periodically showing some wholesome meme on his phone to Shuri; MJ is complaining because she forgot a hat and the sun is too bright and she doesn’t like squinting. Eventually, they’ve all collectively picked up enough food to feed a small army, and MJ sets out on the near-impossible task of finding decent seating. She has a sensitive reaction to grass, but most of the ugly concrete wall is taken up, and acquiring a picnic table is a lost cause before it even starts. And she is  _ not  _ going to stoop so low as to ask for a seat at the crappy bar right outside the premises. She laps around nearly four times before finding a spot on the wall big enough for the three of them to comfortably take up more space than needed.

She turns to call out to her friends and sees Shuri with her arm around Peter, looking at him adoringly. He’s a little flushed, and she’s running her fingers through his hair and she’s laughing and  _ oh _ , it’s such a beautiful moment. MJ stares, trying to burn it into her mind. The way the sun glances off her cheeks, her eyes warm and happy, her lips curved up into a grin. It’s impossible to capture in a thought, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try.

She doesn’t even register Shuri coming up to her, brandishing a churro. “This is not covered in cinnamon powder, I don’t think. Try it,” she demands, and MJ recognizes, again, that she shouldn’t be as affected as she is at the moment. And yet, there she stands, extremely attracted to the girl ordering her to eat a mystery pastry.

It turns out to be a regular churro.

“When are you headed back home?” Peter asks.

The princess shrugs. “Not sure. My brother wants me to see the world and whatnot, but I am happy just exploring this city. That should be enough for a while longer. Then back home. Oh, how I miss my lab.” A wistful expression passes over her face.

Peter’s shoveling as much food as he can grab into his mouth, but he’s still somehow comprehensible when he says, “I’m sure the tech here is pretty sad compared to home. We don’t have any vibranium except for Captain America’s shield. Did you know, once, I called him  _ Mr.  _ Captain America?” He laughs, and stuffs half of a sushi-taco hybrid into his mouth before pausing. He bites. He chews. He swallows, methodically. “Uh. MJ. Forget that.”

“Parker, I know you’re that Spider-Man. Some of us have brain cells.” He blushes, and eats the rest of his taco. “But you–” and she turns to Shuri, “–when were you gonna tell me you had access to vibranium?”

“Never? But, if now you know, now you know. I trust you not to tell anyone else. Wakanda is very, very developed. And my brother, stupid as he is, has had some good ideas in his lifetime, so because of him, the country will be revealing itself soon. So, it is better you found out now than earlier. Still, Peter, you are going to get yourself killed with that big mouth of yours one day.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, probably,” he says, and then picks up a large black-and-white cookie. “But for now, I’ll put it to use.” He flashes a dumb, wide grin, and MJ can’t help but be hit with a wave of love.  _ Whoa _ . Feelings.

“But really, MJ, if you should tell anyone, I would not go easy on you.” The murmur comes from behind her ear as Shuri hops off the wall to the side that MJ can’t see. She feels her eyes widen and her face flush. She is eternally grateful for Peter’s obliviousness, Spidey sense be damned. “Well! I am off to get more of that strange jelly coconut thing. Anyone else?” 

MJ and Peter shake their heads. “I’m perfectly happy, thanks.” And MJ looks her dead in the eye, and she’s filled with a beam of happiness when Shuri freezes. Because she understands.

As soon as Shuri’s gone, Peter pounces on her. “She’s pretty, right?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure. But beauty is a patriarchal concept that means nothing, especially when you take into account the Eurocentrism of the concept.”

“Michelle Jones. You talk smart when you don’t have anything dumb to say.”

She hits his arm lightly. “Parker, that means literally nothing. Like, literally nothing.”

He shrugs and raises an eyebrow conspiratorially. And eats another cookie. “All I’m saying is that she freezes up for a reason.”

 

A week later, and T’Challa has officially opened the country. Shuri, now, is all but hounded by the paparazzi. But being Shuri, she has a hyper-realistic mask that covers her face and makes her look like any average person. And being Shuri, she made it herself. (Stark was, as Peter said, “shook”.)

MJ hates it. She wants to see Shuri’s face. But she’d never admit it. Still, it’s hard to keep in her sigh of relief when Shuri folds the mask back up into a thin tin frisbee in the car to the airport. 

It’s the two of them and Peter in the backseat, with Stark’s driver in the front. MJ feels very out of her comfort zone, but she doesn’t express it. She lounges, a book across her lap for the ride back (Shuri is flying back to Wakanda, of course, and Peter lives in Queens, so he’s getting home via transit).

When they arrive at the airport, Peter rushes off to the bathroom, but not before giving both MJ and Shuri a very,  _ very  _ pointed look. Her heart leaps in her chest as Shuri takes her hand.

“This is goodbye, then?”  
“Yeah. I– I guess it is.” She can feel her pulse in the side of her neck, and twitches uncomfortably to try and get rid of it. It just migrates to her fingers, thrumming fast, and she worries Shuri can feel it.

“Well, then,” Shuri says, her face falling just a bit. “Goodbye.”

“No!” It’s almost a choked shout, and Shuri laughs at her, just a little. “No, uh. No.” She lowers her voice to a normal octave. “Uh, Shuri. I just wanna say that I’ll miss you. I know I act all cool and shit, but I do have emotions. And yeah. I’ll miss you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to text and call you all the time, my dear MJ.”

The taller girl nearly chokes at the ‘dear’. “That’d be great, Shuri.”

They’re still holding hands.

“...So Peter has been gone to the bathroom for quite some time,” ventures the princess.

“Oh, fuck it.” MJ pulls her close and, circling an arm around her waist, leans down to meet her in a passionate kiss. She can feel Shuri’s grip tighten on her hand, can feel her heart beating in her chest, can feel her smooth lips smiling into their kiss. Shuri’s other hand presses against the back of her neck, and MJ feels a rush of happiness. They’re in the middle of the disgusting JFK terminal and she knows that they’re getting stares and her arm’s a little tired from holding Shuri in almost a dip but she doesn’t care. It’s perfect.

After a minute or maybe a year, Shuri straightens herself out and extracts herself from MJ’s arms, still holding onto her hand. “I will miss you, Michelle Jones. But don’t you worry. I’m going to try to convince my brother to let me move into the embessary house here in America. You have not seen the last of me. I know our paths will cross again.”

MJ lets herself grin, holding nothing back. “I really hope they do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos always appreciated! Thanks for reading y'all!


End file.
